Let Love clasp Grief
by GhostOnTheShore
Summary: After the fight on the Rainbow Bridge, Loki did not fall. The Fall came later, contemplated and planned and Loki wakes up in a far different realm than he had intended. Broken and without magic he must navigate life with Jane Foster, a dancer for the New York Ballet. Can Loki help her overcomes a deadly disorder and embrace the Black Swan? Can Jane fix Loki's Broken heart?
1. Prologue: Dressed for Battle? For Death

_**Loki**_

A thousand memories whirled in his head. Stolen memories he felt, or rather realised. They were his; he made them, he shared them . . . but they were stolen. _They_ stole them from him.

Loki stood before Odin his father—no, not his father he now knew; Thor's. Unshed tears stood in his eyes, blinding him. But that didn't matter. He didn't need to see to hear the words that were tearing his life apart. He was shaking, trembling ever so slightly as if gripped by a fever. Odin's words hit him like Mjolnir, carving a hole in his chest that was making it harder and harder to breath with every swing. One word in particular. _Jotun_. A frost giant: The monster that parents frighten their children with at night.

Loki closed his eyes, suddenly lost. Lost and alone. He had always been alone, but not like this. With this he was alone even within himself.

A strong, gentle hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. Loki flinched and like a snake twisted away from it. He glared at Odin who merely stared sadly back at him, pityingly; like he was a lost dog in need of help but too disgusting to even look at. He couldn't bear it, he just couldn't bear it. With a sob he turned and ran, ran as fast as his legs could carry him past guards and childhood acquaintances, not caring who saw him or what they thought. They didn't matter. Nothing did. _Nothing_.

He ran to his room and locked the door. He leaned against it gasping brokenly, unable to fill his lungs even once. His hands wandered up to his face and numbly he felt his cheeks. They were dry but cold, like ice. He was so empty yet filled with so many emotions he couldn't tell what he truly felt. It was like the puzzle of his life, being put together piece by piece over the centuries, had been missing one, tiny little square where nothing would fit. And then just as he found the piece and completed it, the picture changed. It wasn't the picture on the box anymore, though. Someone had made a mistake. Someone had lied.

Loki etched all of this into his mind, every word, every detail as he remembered. It had been seven days ago now. He had fought with his brother only yesterday. That terrible fight . . . the rainbow bridge was left shattered, just like them. They hadn't decided what to do with him yet, except take away his power. He didn't even need guards now; his weakness was a guard within itself.

Loki clenched his teeth and pushed himself away from the door, where he had been deciding whether to face the world or hide like a coward. He chose coward. He collapsed onto his bed and curled into a ball, fighting the pain rising inside of him. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to feel. He wrapped his arms about himself as if to keep the rest of him from falling into the cavity forming inside his chest.

He lay there for awhile. He didn't know how long, but after awhile Thor came looking for him for the first time since the fight. His brother pounded on his door and called his name. Why now? Loki stared silently at the door, willing him to go away. He feared that Thor, being as stubborn as he was, would try and knock down the door before long. Loki rose from

his bed and stayed up long enough to move some furniture in front of the entry before things started to escalate.

It was a long time before his brother went away. Loki just stared listlessly at the pile of bookshelves when he was gone and then only when night began to fall did he rouse himself. He gathered his things slowly, deliberately, calmly even. He pulled off his casual clothing as though pulling off old skin, like a snake might, and in its place he put his most formal shirt and newest trousers. Then he sat and painstakingly polished his armour, scrubbing away every speck of dirt, rubbing away every blemish from its surface. He put that on as well, adjusting it until it sat perfectly, unnoticeably. Then his emerald cape. He slipped into his midnight black boots and smoothed back his raven black hair. Lastly his helmet out of which curved the elegant golden horns that had become in a way his trademark, his identity. They glinted in the moonlight as he fitted it resolutely to his head.

At length, feeling complete, _safe,_ he turned to the mirror for the final check. He didn't want to miss anything. He found himself staring back; a tall, slim man dressed as though for battle or—as would be in Asgard—a funeral. In the moonlight his pale skin appeared blue.

Loki turned away before the red eyes appeared as well. There was nothing more to see anyway. He was ready, both mentally and physically.

After all, he wanted to look his best for his suicide


	2. Fallen from Grace

Fallen from Grace

Loki walked with measured steps along the dark corridors of the palace. They were empty and silent. His made sure that his footfalls did nothing to disturb such quiet peace, a rare thing even so late into the night. As he passed his brother's room in the hall next to his he took care to be even more cautious: his light was still on.

He made it past unobstructed, however, and continued like a ghost out to the shattered Bifröst. He walked forward, edging closer and closer until he stood over the utter rim and could look down. His chest was tight and his heart pounded and jumped against it as if in a wild effort to escape. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry.

This was it. If he thought now he would never take the step. It was the only solution he could see, the only one that didn't end in disaster or heartbreak. The only one that would be a relief to his father, his mother, his brother, himself . . . The only one that set everything right.

He pulled himself up straight and inhaled long to steady his breathing. He titled his head back and looked at the stars. They blurred across his vision like shooting stars.

He closed his eyes . . . and leaned.

"Loki."

Loki gasped and caught himself. Another second and it would have been too late.

"Loki," the voice repeated sadly. "Son."

Damn! He had forgotten Heimdell. Of course he would betray him. He turned and saw Odin standing a few body lengths behind him, his hand outstretched.

"Son?" Loki hissed. "I am not your son, a fact that you know all too well."

"I found you, Loki." Odin said. "I raised you as my own in my own house. I have as much right to call you son as I do Thor."

"Perhaps we should call you the god of lies, Odin. You are quite adept at it. But you can't fool me, I am the master."

Odin didn't seem to hear him. He just beckoned with his hand. "Come away from the edge, my son. That is a most dishonourable way."

"Then to Hel I will go," Loki snarled, "and you cannot stop me. You will not stop me." He turned to jump with his arm outstretched to push Odin away.

"Loki, no! Can you not see that I love you?"

"_Lies_!" Loki screamed, whipping back. "You have never loved me! I could never be like your perfect Thor, your SON! Do you think I couldn't see how you've hated me? Ever since I was a child you punished me for everything, even when others would confess it to be their sin, not mine! Did you think I couldn't see?"

Loki's eyes burned and he couldn't hold back his tears any longer. They seared like fire against his cold cheeks. "You are a coward," he accused Odin, voice breaking. "Y-you're a coward to have kept this from me for so-o long. And then you told me when you knew it would destroy me. If you want to blame someone for everything that has happened you have nowhere to look but yourself!"

And Loki didn't give him a chance to reply. He paused long enough to clear his eyes and then went with a wholeheartedly leap for the abyss.

But it was not to be. He was slammed fiercely back down onto the Bifröst and was pinned, unable to move. He howled with frustration and twisted to claw at the offender. It was his brother, Mjolnir in hand.

"Unhand me Thor!" he raged. "This isn't your argument."

"It is if you are apart of it, Brother."

"You were always sticking your nose into other people's lives, Thor. Just this once, keep to yourself! Let me die in peace."

Thor gripped Loki forcefully by his shoulders and was practically shaking him. "You are my life!" he shouted, tears forming in his eyes. "You're my little brother, I love you, and you have always, _always_," he shook Loki once, "known that. I am not about to let you die."

Loki flinched at the word 'die' but still tried to scramble away. Thor would have none of that and wrapped his arm around Loki's chest, holding him firmly against him. And they sat there on the bridge, in a combat of wills to see who would give in to the other. As Thor knew he would, and as He himself knew, Loki broke first. He burst into tears, face crumpled, his whole body shaking with weeping. Thor held him tightly, trying to still him, murmuring to him. "Brother, shh. It's alright, it's alright . . ."

"Stop it, Thor, j-just stop," Loki whispered.

"Never. Not until you're safe. I love you." He pulled his brother's helmet off gently and put his cheek to his. "I will _never_ let you jump."

_He was trapped. Trapped forever. No escape—_

Ten seconds later Loki screamed.

๒

Consciousness hovered a hairsbreadth away; shifting above a vast surface below which lay staggering oblivion. Memories began to snap through his mind in sharp, fragmented patterns as the surface became nearer, but still full recollection eluded him: splinters of a rainbow,glitter in the darkness, a voice screaming his name…

His name. what was his name? he knew it, felt its presence inside of him, but the word would not form in his mind, that thing which meant him. However, the odd felling plagued him that he didn't want to know. It was a truth too devastating to handle at the moment: that those things it implied, that he implied, were painful, somehow. His mind seemed to involuntarily shy away from the last few moments before oblivion hit. It lied to him even now, wrapped in near blissful unconsciousness.

Suddenly, that word, _lied_, reawakened something within him and he shot towards the surface, into the day, away from night, shattering it into a million, agonizing pieces that cut into his mind, becoming embedded like shrapnel from a bomb into newborn flesh. He wanted to scream but even that effort was too much. Paralyzed by pain, he could only lay there and endure it as his name, his memories, unwanted, returned to him.

_Loki, Loki, Loki. He who lies, he who deceives. Unsought, forgotton. Poison, monster…_

No wonder is only subconscious had fought so hard to keep him under, he mused, even if only for a few moments. Or, perhaps it was a hundred years. He could not say. The pain of his body was beginning to override the pain of his mind it was both a relief and a horror, because the clearer things became, the more his injuries subdued him. It was like fire, spreading…

At some point Loki realised that it was dark and that he had yet to open his eyes. He was loathe to the action, however, because he knew it would bring him to total consciousness and total pain. He peeled back his eyelids slowly, almost fearfully, and was relieved when they were not flooded with light. A mellow twilight greeted him.

Loki blinked, shifted, and groaned. He was on his side, sort of, with his left arm twisted under him unnaturally. He reached tentatively for his magic for some relief from the pain but came away empty. The All-father kept it from him still, then. It occurred to him somewhere in the back of his mind that he had fallen, fallen a long, long way, and that he should be dead. Why wasn't he dead? He wanted to be dead. That was the whole point of his jumping in the first place. He recalled it disjointedly. Odin had stopped him on the bridge and Thor had followed. He held him down and Loki had despaired. He would rather take anything, even death, especially death, to being kept in a cage, to being forced to be with his family. Thor had weakened his grip for a moment, the slackening of a single muscle, and Loki made his escape. He remembered twisting away and then Thor's shout as he leapt and his own cry of pain was he split his arm on a fragment of the bridge. Then nothing. Then waking here, wherever "here" claimed to be, and then pain.

And so here he was. Not dead, on an unidentified realm, without magic, and unable to move.

_God of Mischief my foot. More like the God of Misfortune._

With a mighty focus of will he managed to roll onto his back, sinking his teeth into his lip in order to silence his scream. But now that his arm was free he was able to see that it was not broken as he had origionally thought, only shredded into ribbons due to his scrape with the bridge. His armour and leather were caked with drying blood, as was his hair. His head pounded. What a sight he must look, even in his finery.

There was noise all around him, but it was subdued, muted, as though a little ways off. The ground under him was soft but terribly cold. Bone achingly cold, he realised. He rubbed a clump of it between his fingers. Snow, fresh powdery snow. Above him in the frigid evening breeze swayed the empty branches of large deciduous trees. He could just make out a street and some tall buildings a ways to his right, and…a car?

_Fuck_.

Loki hardly ever swore. It indicated a limited vocabulary and a low intellect, but here he felt he had a valid excuse, for if that was indeed a car then it could only mean one thing.

_Midgard. Why does it have to be Midgard?_

If it were any other place he wouldn't have been so worried. Buthere, having no garb but his armour an his blood, he would stick out like a sore thumb. Midgard had changed so much in the centuries since he had last been. They were strange little people; petty. He could not fathom why Thor had taken such a liking to them.

With a white hot flash of pain he hauled himself to his feet. He couldn't afford to sit idly in the cold any longer. He needed shelter and binding for his arm, else he would bleed out and then freeze, his body to be found by the mortals in the morning. He shuddered at the indignity.

He didn't know where he was going, but the street seemed like his best option. It was lined with far more cars than he had originally thought. More than he could count. The buildings were narrow but tall, stretching four more stories into the sky. Loki stumbled on the slick pavement and his breath blew out in a huff, swirling in a white cloud around his head. It was growing colder.

His head spun and he ran his hand along his arm. It came away warm and sticky. He looked to the walls of the buildings. If he could just lean against it, rest for a moment, just a moment. Anything more would be undignified, weak. Like the dirty homeless he had seen on Midgard previously. It was pathetic, a realm that could not even help its poor.

_Homeless_, his mind echoed to him. _Like you. And dirty. Foul with blood. They will not help you._

Just as well. He did not want their help. He did not need their help.

If only he could get to the wall, the steps even, he would be alright. Just across the street…

He grabbed blinding for a rail just as he collapsed. His knees cried out in pain, but the ground numbed them before he could even realise he had fallen. The street tilted, his vision blurred, but unconsciousness eluded him for a while longer. He fought for awareness viciously. He would not die here on this pathetic, foul, joke of a realm. Not here…anywhere but here…

Colour erupted in his sight. Grey, white, blue, green, red, pink…black.

When he reawakened a mere hour later, it was to the pitch barrel of a gun.


	3. Villain on Your Doorstep

**This is where the fun begins. Imagine this as a meld of the two characters Nina Sayers and Jane Foster, although I would say that her personality leans quite a bit more to the Jane Foster side. But** **she has sort of got Nina's problems, and well, obviously her profession. I hope you like it.**

Villain on your Doorstep

_**Jane **_

It had been a long day.

Jane had woken up at the crack of dawn as she did every day and began stretching. She stretched for half an hour. Then she had "breakfast" (an egg and half a grapefruit), donned a leotard and tights, and began to go through the first five ballet positions in front of her mirror, flowing through the pattern several times. Then the _battement tendu._ By the time she finished it was 7:00. She needed to be at the studio by 7:15.

She had taken the subway and arrived on the dot with every single other student. Late comers were not welcome there. They went through the same routine she had already done that morning. She did it perfectly, like always.

But one thing happened that morning that did not fall in with the typical routine for a day of dance. In the middle of their _battement tendu_ Thomas Leroy, the Director of their company, began to tell them of that season's production.

Swan Lake.

Jane remembered almost faltering at the announcement. Luckily, she kept her position. And it was a good thing she did, because by the time he finished his speech her shoulder hadn't been tapped. She was in. she was _actually _in.

_But_ _Jane was ambitious. Being "in" simple wasn't_ _enough. She wanted more, she wanted perfection. _

She wanted to be the Queen.

Of course, there were a handful of other dancers more than qualified for the part of the Swan Queen, dancers more vicious than she and certainly less scrupulous. Oh no, there would be blood: she was sure the others were sharpening their nails as this very moment.

It would probably be the most difficult thing she had ever attempted. Her footwork would have to flawless, her try-outs passionate, and her determination unwavering. Nothing could distract her. Nothing would get in her way.

The rest of the day was focused on their new training for the production. Minor things, but the tension in the air was tangible. Every girl glared at the other Jane neither participated or let herself be intimidated. She was perfect, she could fly, just like the delicate swan…

They finished late. She had gotten on the subway, exhausted but happy. Stressed, but determined. The train pulled into the station at 9:30.

So, in summation, it had been a long day.

Unbeknownst to her, it was about to get a whole lot longer.

She walked slowly now back to her flat, trying to relax for just a few minutes before the chaos of the next few weeks began. Her white scarf flapped gently in the breeze whose cold fingers managed to find their way past her pink coat. She shivered and pulled it closer, careful to avoid patches of ice on the slick pavement. It would _not _do to sprain an ankle at this point.

As it was, when she approached her flat she nearly jumped out her skin.

_Oh. My. God._

No pun intended.

Incomparable shock saturated Jane's entire being. Stopped dead three feet from her flat, she gawked at the man passed out on her doorstep. It was _him. _Loki. Thor's ill-intentioned brother. The most dangerous man in the world.

A thousand possibilities of what she ought to do flashed through her mind. So, of course, being the audacious and impulsive Jane Foster she chose what was probably the stupidest one. She dragged the half-conscious man into her flat and with a lot of effort and clever thinking (he _was _nearly twice her weight), plopped him onto her sofa before he passed out completely. Then, her heart quivering in her chest, she found a chair and sat, waiting, her bottom lip crushed between her teeth.

She didn't have to wait long. His eyes fluttered. Opened.

And Jane snapper her gun to his forehead.

A brief wave of surprise washed over Loki's face, then anger, before settling into a mild irritation.

"Jane Foster. To what do I owe the pleasure of finally meeting Thor's whore?"

She didn't waste any time with insults or pleasantries. "I've called SHEILD. They'll be here in a few minutes."

She hadn't really. She hadn't a clue how to contact them. not that she was going to inform him of that fact. Unfortunately, she got the feeling that he didn't believe her anyway. He smirked.

"Is that supposed to worry me?"

"It should. You're not exactly in any state to resist," she informed him glibly. She pointed her gun meaningfully at his arm. "Whatever you're doing here, it ends now."

"Fortunately for me I am not so limited in my defences as your pathetic mortal self." Clearly he meant the gun. His smirk grew wider as hers faltered. "You're welcome to give it a go if you won't take my word for it."

"Careful," she warned with a last attempt to uphold her façade of bravado, "or I may follow your advice."

"Oh, please do," he sneered, "and when you have, you can be the one to tell Thor how such harm came to his _precious _little brother."

"Oh, so _now _you're his brother? Did they sign adoption papers before they kicked you out of Asgard?"

Jane realised with a flash of fear that she may have gone too far. In one smooth motion, far faster than she would have thought him capable in his present state, Loki was suddenly towering above her, teeth bared and eyes glowering menacingly. In panikJane flinched and shoved her gun into his abdomen. With a gasp of pain Loki fell back onto the sofa, hand clutching his middle like he had the wind knocked out of him.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Jane mentally cursed herself. So much for her poker face. She sighed and set the gun down. It wasn't getting her anywhere. "Here, let me help you."

"I don't want your help." He glared at her, but the effect was a poor one. He was as white as a sheet.

"No," she agreed, "but you need it." _and I need you to stop bleeding all over my sofa. _"Stay there. I'll be back in a minute."

Without waiting for a nasty response from her own personal villain, Jane quickly turned and went in search for her extensive first aid kit. It also gave her a chance to think in private. A thought had suddenly occurred to her. If Loki were to stay with her for any length of time, it would only be a matter of time before Thor came looking for him, right? She did not know the circumstances of Loki's injuries or appearance on earth, but even if they had come by Thor's hand he would surely be curious as to where his brother disappeared to. Especially because, despite being hurt, he was still tried to level a whole town, for Pete's sake.

_So, I play nurse to Loki—if I can tolerate him for that long—and in turn Thor may come looking for him. It seemed like a nice plan, except for…ballet. Damn._

She had to go into the studio every day. All day. Not going was not an option. It was her passion, her _whole life. _She just couldn't leave him by himself. Who knows what he'd get up to. He'd get bored and kill somebody. Or leave. Neither were good options. She'd have to come back at their lunch break and check on him. _Which will actually work out perfectly._ She smiled. Yes, this could work.

Jane gathered the rest of her supplies and changed into more comfortable clothing. She returned to find Loki lying stiffly on his back, arm thrown over his eyes, and the other had delicately running over his ribs. They were probably cracked. She gently slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me."

Jane rolled her eyes. "I'll need to touch you if you want to stop bleeding or let those ribs have any chance of healing. It won't take long, so suck it up."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "You mortals use such strange phrases."

"Yes, mine people speaketh far stranger than thine own," she said dryly. "I don't think so, Shakespeare."

_Loki said nothing. He probably didn't_ _want to admit to not knowing who Shakespeare was. Jane went ahead and began to tend to his arm and he did nothing to stop her this time. Only lay_ _there stiffly, likely in pain. She almost felt bad for him, but as she worked,_ _a wave of her own tiredness hit her. She glanced at the clock. 10:30, no wonder. She had been up for 16 hours. And_ _I need to get up at 6:00 tomorrow too._

Jane sighed inwardly and turned back to her patient, all of her fears of his stay swirling in her head.

_It's_ _going to be a long night…_


End file.
